Lost Hope For Love
by Semper Tardius
Summary: Re-Write of The Heart Within Your Hand. Allen Walker is an Exorcist, people who use Innocence to hunt down witches. The path he walks is lonely and painful, and these excerpts from his journal tell his sad journey through life; and his subsequent death. But have hope, for death is not always the end. Prequel.


**Excerpts of Exorcist Allen Walker's Journal**

 **Black Order Fort, September 1688**

They say that writing is a good therapy for the heart, and it teaches you control over yourself. I do not believe that, but at the very least, it is therapy. In the past, I could never use this hand of mine. It is strange that this demon hand is something so miraculous and holy. I find it even more ludicrous that such a virtuous substance should choose me, despite the sins I have committed in the short years I have wandered this earth. Master—General Cross—says sins are of no consequence when you fight a war. No one cares about what a soldier has done as long as he is willing to fight. Even God will forgive sinners, because if they ask forgiveness they overcome Satan and become his children again. In simple words, I may be a sinner, but as far as the Order is concerned, my salvation is between me and God. As long as I fight, nothing else matters to them. It is a sad truth that makes me feel lonely in this world; I am an unwanted existence that no one would look twice at if not for my hideously deformed arm. Such is my burden to carry.

I am a little older now, but sometimes my memories still haunt me. Who I was as Red has already been washed away, and it is a part of my life I have forgotten. Mana, however, is not a part of my life so easily put to rest. I doubt I will ever come to fully accept it all. He was my world, after all. He took me, a poor orphan on the streets, and raised me with love. He taught me the wonderful side of humanity and washed away the bitterness I held towards my own kind. Though we were poor, we lived every day with genuine smiles. We kept our dreams alive, saying that one day we would leave London to go to the Americas. A land of opportunity, and beauty. I wish I had known about this war then. Perhaps I would have recognized the signs of what was happening. If I had known, though it is sacrilegious to think, let alone write, I could have helped him hide his true nature. Instead, things played out as they did. A day came, normal as any other, when we were sharing our morning meal and he suddenly cast himself from me. He fled from the house and did not return until night had fallen. He apologized, tucked me into bed as if nothing had happened. For some reason, this memory remains in my mind so clearly… like a sign that it was the calm before the storm.

His behavior changed drastically after that. He was distracted more often than not, often spoke to himself. On occasion, Mana would stare blankly into air, and he would not even stir if you pinched him hard enough to make him bleed. People whispered, saying he had a demon inside. They whispered that his words were ones of blasphemy, and he sang curses to plague them. He would laugh off their accusations, and in the privacy of home he'd sit me down and soothe away my worries.

"Everyone in this world wears a mask," he told me. "What they are saying now is not how they really feel. They merely feel upset by their own plights, and they lay them on whatever poor soul is closest at hand."

And so at first I did not believe those accusations. I knew Mana, and they did not. It was as simple as that. I understood it all from a very young age: the young wife who pretended to be happily married, whose husband beat her. Or the bachelor who threw extravagant parties but held more debt than a factory worker's whore. At that age, I already understood the world, and ignored the discrimination. But other omens made it more difficult. A black cat died, of fright no less. Our neighbors' daughter fell ill from a strange and peculiar illness that could not be identified. That season, a swarm of locusts fell upon the crops outside of London. Locusts, like in the ten plagues cursed upon the land of Egypt. I could look away no more, could no longer pretend that these events were all nature's course. I asked Mana about these things. He had wept upon my asking.

"Why are bad things happening around us," I asked him—and he held me tightly, so tightly I felt his beating heart in every limb.

"Sometimes bad things happen simply by coincidence, or because it is a bout of bad luck," he told me in a rough voice that reminded me of the scrape pf water against stone, or grains of sand rasping against flesh in the wind.

He spoke the truth, of course. With the truth, he avoided answering my question. Barely two days had passed when Mas—General Cross—came to our area of London. I still do not know why he choose to take notice of our area's problems. To this day, it remains one of the few jobs he actually took…almost as if he were guided by God. When he investigated the odd occurrences, he found my father to be the culprit of everything. I tried to protect Mana, but a child against a General can do nothing. He burned my father at the stake. For the first time, my arm reacted to my emotions, and it moved. It changed. General Cross took care of me all too easily despite such a powerful and horrendously violent awakening. Later I awoke in anger and grief, near madness. He immediately declared himself my master, my teacher. So relentless. He did not wait for me to heal and instead threw me into the life of an Exorcist. Every day was a struggle to train me in his own rough way. Without giving me the opportunity to pause, I was forced to go through grief without thinking about it. Ah, words cannot explain that man and his ways. If he forces you to live through extreme methods, it means he cares enough to push you until he knows you will survive. He never says it, but I know he does. Three years he has taught me, three years he has ruined me. I hate him, and I also love him. We have gone through so much together. He has seen me in every weakness, and I have seen him in many of his own. To think every moment our lives traveled side by side meant so little to him…

He has left me here, now, in the Black Order. He said from himself I could learn no more, and the Earl's witches have heard of me across Europe. General Cross rarely listens to orders. He listened to this one, and took me to the Black Order. They made me a General. Commanded me to stay in their fort. General Cross left without a word. It hurts. I have a feeling he wanted to say something. To tell me goodbye. But he is no father. He is not a gentle man. He is the kind of man who enjoys a woman for a single night then leaves, without saying a word. I always took comfort that he never did the same with me. Now that he has left me too, I try to take comfort in the fact he did not do it wholly by choice, or at least not of his own volition. At that point, he had only followed two orders, both of them concerning me. I do not know why. But I think I know why he left so easily.

I have the strangest feeling in my heart. A sad kind of fear, one I believe he also has.

We will not meet again in this life.

He did not want to acknowledge that this is where our path together ends, and we must each make our own way.

::

 **Black Order Fort, October 1688**

I like it here well enough. They give me plenty of food. My bed is warm. It is a little lonely when you are not yet thirteen and of a higher rank than every soul in the building. It is even more complicated now that I know other things about what being an Exorcist is. General Cross taught me survival of every kind: fighting, hunting, identifying witches and warlocks, countering spells. But I never understood our world or the explanations of why they existed. No one wanted to explain it to me; they thought I already knew. Luckily, I made a friend in Johnny Gill, a tailor for our uniforms. He is a kind man, too good and soft for the War. He even helps me with therapies for my arm and hand. He understands it is difficult for me to coontrol my innocence, even to this day. He approves of journaling and even taught me piano to further facilitate the dexterity. He is truly too kind for the work we do.

I learned more about the War, about witches and warlocks. The Black Order classifies two kinds of magic-casters: Noahs, and Akumas. Akumas are humans who make a deal with the devil for power. They start as level ones: ugly, scarred human forms whose magic lashes out who hurts others. Then they gain control and more power, regaining humanity. Level Fours are the most difficult to defeat, and the most human. Mana was a Level Four. With his skill of magic, only innocence could harm him.

Johnny knew little of the Noahs, save they were the Earl's family, magic users who never died. Noahs rarely meet Exorcists. In the last decade, there has only been one sighting. General Cross, of course, was the one who encountered the Noah.

The Black Order thinks these witches and warlocks are evil, with no chance of redemption. They do not say anything about the lives these people live; they only speak of the hideous nature they conceal beneath pleasant exteriors. Exorcists… so many have done this for years. Whatever qualms they had about killing men and women have long since been buried by the time I meet them. The blood of dozens of witches covers their hands.

I am frightened of becoming like them. I lived with a warlock. He loved me. He cared for me. Mana was a good man. I remember every second I spent with him, and never had he done the things that the Black Order and other Exorcists claim he was predisposed to do. Therefore, when I meet a witch or a warlock on the street, and they cause me no harm, I let them go. I can sense who is a normal human who is not. If it is not a dangerous Akuma… I let them go. I cannot stand to watch people suffer when they are guiltless, Akuma or not. I wish to be strong enough to know when to take a life. As I am now, I am young, hesitant, and unknowing. I am always in a sea of confliction for what I know is the truth.

::

 **London, December 1688**

Tonight, I met the devil himself. Perhaps not Satan himself, but he is the devil of our War. He was not as I had imagined. Not cruel. He was frightening, dangerous, certainly. But not cruel.

We met in an alley of London, my beloved Father's resting place. His ashes had been buried, and a seedling planted in the outskirts of London. By a last grace of that devil, the seedling grew to maturity in these few years. It even blossoms, though in the winter, of all times. Is it because of the magic still lingering in his ashes? Or because the Earl visits his grave?

Before the face of Mana, I confessed my doings. The lives I have taken, and my fears. There I feel asleep against my father's tree, and when I woke, a man wearing my father's face stood there. I foolishly ran to embrace him, calling him 'Mana', and crying so foolishly…

That man held me, soothed me without saying a word. And when I calmed and looked at his face, it was so heavy I knew he was not Mana. Yet he held me. We spoke and his words were a soft caress and a promise that will no doubt remain rooted in my very being for a thousand years.

"I know you, Allen Walker," he told me. He was solemn and confused, in awe of me. I almost feared him, but my heart told me that the Great Earl of the pagan witches and warlocks would sooner slit his own throat than harm a hair upon my head. And his words were soft and gentle. He said, _I know you_ , and I felt loved. Only Mana and General Cross have ever known me. "The young General, who killed my witches and warlocks."

He said that, and my sense of reverence and warmth fled away. I became afraid of him, feeling more like a weak child than a General. When I tried to pull away, he did not let me. He kept a firm grip. He stared into my soul, and I once more believed his words. _I know you_.

"My Akuma attacked you," he spoke. "Yes?"

I trembled, feeling as if I were about to vibrate out of my skin. I realized that, just as he knew me, I knew him. It was awfully intimate to _know_ a stranger without having ever met before previously. It is also deeply disturbing to realize you know your enemy so much more deeply than yourself for reasons unknown to the mind or soul.

"Millennium… Earl," I breathed. His hand came to rest on my chest. I allowed him the contact between his hand and my breast. That man's touch sent chills down my spine—and filled me with comfort.

"I thought to kill you, the young General. Who knew that such a formidable enemy might be Mana's son," he said softly. "Who knew that you would be so kind, and of the blood…"

I do not know what he meant by this. It confused me. The ground did shatter beneath my feet, however, when I realized that the Earl knew Mana. I had always assumed that my father had simply been an Akuma of high level, and that by extension I was merely a waif a warlock raised.

If you could believe it, it turns out Mana was the Earl's twin. And the Earl called me his nephew. No, he even called me his son.

"The son of Mana may as well be my own," he told me with a sincerity that made hope rise traitorously in my chest. And after silence, he held me a little longer. He spoke. "I am sorry I can do nothing for you now. And soon you will be…"

He never completed that sentence. He instead released me, moving a hand to the scar Mana bequeathed to me over my eye. Beneath his gentle touch, my eyelids fluttered shut and I found a strange heaviness fall over me. Like a gentle lullaby rocking me into the sweet land of dreams.

"He gave this to you," he said. Sadness colored his voice. "I fear it will not protect you for much longer."

I awoke at the foot of the tree, in the same position I had fallen asleep. I wondered if it had been a dream, or a nightmare. Even now, I hope it was merely a dream, and not the magic of the creator of magic. Regardless of the instigator of the dreams—be it the Earl or my own subconscious—I feel that those ominous words hold real meaning. I do not know what to make of the Earl or his strange words to me. What blood did he mean? What was I going to become? Why would Mana's curse fail to protect me? I still quiver in fear because of these unanswered questions. It is unsettling.

I have my own suspicions. I almost dare not write it down. But if my suspicions come true, what will it matter? Will I have the heart to care?

I suspect the Earl believes me to be of The Blood, his Noah kin. He visited me in my dream and treated me so gently because he believes that I will soon become one of his family members. Considering my own heart and my reactions to his gentleness, I believe he is right. I am…despite the Innocence…a Noah.

::

 **Massachusetts, July 1689**

I have been in the Massachusetts colonies for two months. The Black Order knows the Earl's attention has shifted. They believe that he is intent on building an army here, in these lands. They sent me to these new lands, to scout this brilliant new world. The Back Order has its own colony, not too far from Salem. They have been here six years already. They are almost fully self-sufficient now, occasionally trading with the natives here. Everyone knows everyone. Save me. I am the stranger. Native or colonist, they all stare at my hair and stare at me with distrust. Luckily a kind man took me in, and now I feel considerably more welcome.

Life in the colonies is hard. We all live in a place both miserable and beautiful. It is miserable, because almost no man has touched it, but it is also beautiful for that same reason. Everyone must work together to survive. The trust born here is born out of necessity, despite all of the secrecy. Komui, a man from China, is a member of the Black Order, a most prestigious doctor. Yet his sister knows not a single thing of the Order. Many of the villagers are like this: villagers who are members of the Black Order who came live here in the hopes of beginning anew. They believe that the Earl will not come to the New World. Ironically, they brought their families, many of whom are potential Exorcists. No one knows of my identity, and a childish part of me hopes it remains so. Because, if the Earl lands here, I am the highest authority of the Black Order. I am the who will choose the new Exorcists and train them in preparation of fighting and killing those who use magic. I do not wish this life on anyone, let alone the children of families who settled in this land to keep them out of such an awful war.

Often I feel like a boat in the cold sea and lonely ripples, rocked to and fro without hope. Especially as the Earl's words and taunts haunt my mind. However, I have finally seen a ray of light. It makes me hope that perhaps the War has been left behind in the Old World.

In history, there is a special clan that exists to reward important events. They insert themselves into events as they happen, observing and recording from the moment. They work without emotion, without bias. They call themselves the Bookman Clan. Yesterday, the head and his protégée came to the village. One of them I call "my light", for as soon as I laid eyes upon him, it was as if he were the Lord taking away my blindness. His hair is a strange fire, his skin quite fair. His eyes remind me of emeralds, and a gleam of mischief always ignites them. It is undoubtedly wrong to admit this, but I fell in love with him at first sight.

He is a few years older than I am, and very handsome. Already, I know he will never look my way. I am—in short, simply an indentured servant here, and an ugly one at that. I think this is for the best. He will never notice when I look at him, never see the love for him in my gaze. After all, it is wrong to love a man, and he is better off knowing nothing.

Even though he is more open, reciting scripts as old as Homer and of things such as Apollo's love for Hyacinth, he is never to fall in love with me. I saw it yesterday, mere moments after I finally laid eyes on him. Free, unbound Lavi also fell in love at first sight. Guarded as his expressions are, I can read his thoughts as he viewed me. He thought my face plain, ugly, eyes dull as iron, and hair as white as dust in a house. Yet as soon as he saw dear Lenalee, he thought her as beautiful as a nymph, with the grace of a Muse.

At first, reading his face felt like reading a letter, where the last words stabbed and cut my heart. But I love Lenalee as dearly as Komui does. She is still too young to join in matrimony, but I will not argue if Lavi decides to pursue her. After all, a Bookman's lineage must continue. He cannot love anyone who does not contribute. He is only allowed one chance to love—it ought to be someone capable of giving him children. I cannot steal that from him. I can happily give my most precious loved one to him instead.

::

 **Massachusetts, August 1689**

My time is passing quickly, slipping through my fingers even as I try to hold onto it. The Earl's Wards are entirely in my head now, sometimes in my dreams. His knowledge and gentleness are things I long for. I have no one to call family. Even Komui and Lenalee do not care for me to the same extent I do for them. It has been so long since I have had human touch. The most of my nightmares have has ever had me longing for Cross's presence. I just want a little comfort. In my dreams, the Earl is holding me. He offers to give me a family, to give me peace. He often offers to give me sanctuary from the war. He promises to love me. These sweet temptations are not the poison my logic insists, and I wish I had someone with me to give me the same things he offers. Someone to assure me it is all a lie. To keep me from becoming a Noah. It is frightening, but even my Innocence hums in agreement with the Earl's sweet whispers.

Sometimes, on the days when I look haggard or tired, one of the villagers will come to me. He usually says nothing, only offering food, or to carry something. Kanda does not say much, and he always looks annoyed. He dislikes weakness. Still, it relieves me to know someone is looking at me. Someone notices. No matter how little he watches, he expresses that he sees me and that he cares.

::

 **Massachusetts, September 1690**

My dreams have increased alarmingly, and there is more variety to what I see now. I know for certain now, that the Earl has his hand in this. As I can sense witches, I can sense his lingering presence on my very soul. While I fear for myself and what his attention means, I fear more for this new land and these colonies. If the Earl is affecting my dreams, it means he has either become more powerful, or he is here in the colonies. Magic-users can affect dreams at will. An Akuma of ghost level can only affect a small town, not even the outskirts. A Noah can control a city. Once, the Earl even reached nearby cities of other countries. But he was not strong enough to reach the Americas. Until now, if he still is in England. Either way, the Earl has his focus on the New World. Everyone's hopes… even my own (a moment where no one fights, where I do not decide who lives or dies, where I am normal) will soon be shattered. How long until I re-shoulder my mantle? As a General? Months, maybe years. It will not be long. I just hope I can see the rest of my firsts with Lavi.

"Where is Lenalee?" Lavi asked, and it was the first time he spoke to me.

"Are you well?" he asked me on a morning he came to visit, carrying a basket full of herbs grown by his grandfather. He had looked upon my sallow face and asked out of concern for an acquaintance. It was the first time he was concerned for me.

"I can talk to talk to her when I please!" he shouted at me, causing our first argument. And the beginning of our animosity.

"I hope you find yourself a shallow grave." These are his first words of hatred. That day I asked him to leave Lenalee alone and to remain with me instead, acting as a proper chaperone. He hates when I interfere with his attempts of courtship, thinking I meddle too much. In truth, I simply want his company. Especially now that Lenalee looks at him with affection now: eyes full of warmth and curiosity, and her blushes making her even more lovely. I want to act as chaperone, to take as many firsts as I can before they marry. I will even go until I have my first rejection form him.

Kanda, strange Kanda, watches us all. He sees, and understands everything. As Lavi's best friend, he lives up to the reputation. He is intelligent, reading the hearts of man well, I learned. Over time, he has given me silent help. Over time, we have clashed. Yet I do not hate him, as people believe, nor him me. Sometimes… I even believe we are connected by fate. The moments when I need company the most, our paths will cross. We sit together with no one else around. In silence, occasionally in soft conversation. What he is to me still remains an enigma. His existence in my life is similar to Cross. Like Cross, he is not one to quickly damn others. Even knowing of my affections.

"You love that idiot," he said while we sat back to back in the forest. Only us.

"Lavi?" I asked, using a light tone to counteract the gravity of his question.

"I can see it in your eyes when you look at him. You love him with your entire being." Yes, Kanda sees and knows me. He sees through the mask like Mana, Cross—like the Earl.

"Does it not bother you?"

And Kanda looked not at me, but at a bird in the distance, his gaze a shade darker than before.

"The only thing I am concerned with is the fact that you have fallen in love with someone who is too blinded by beauty to see that which is amazing about you." Wise, deep Kanda. "I am not one to shy away from homosexuality or condemn it, nor is Lavi. But he is not a girl, dear Allen. You can never marry him. You may as well forget him, and let your heart be contained."

And I had given him a sad smile.

"The heart does not like to be restrained, Kanda. Nothing can control this emotion."

He said nothing more than that.

I wish I had fallen for him instead of Lavi.

::

 **Massachusetts, December 1691**

At the beginning of this week, we were beginning wedding preparations for Lavi and Lenalee. Everyone had such high spirits and they were ready for jovial times. Then the letter came. A letter that convinced Komui to meet me in private.

"You are a General," he said. He looked grim. And too old. That he now knew about me meant the Black Order had told him. Something they would not do unless the situation be dire.

"I am," I answered. He gave me the letter. As I feared, it was dire news indeed. Confirmation of the Earl's presence in the colonies, and some of the Noahs as well. Reports of General Yeegar's assassination, a growing madness among colonists, and Cross's disappearance. All caused by the Earl or the Noah. Three remaining Generals. Only ten remaining Exorcists in Europe, two near China. One here.

They sent such grave news. I could say no more.

"Our peace is gone; we have been told to train all possible Exorcists with the Innocence they sent." Komui laughed weakly. "How can we tell if it is the right Innocence for the right Exorcists? What if the wrong pieces were sent?"

"Trust in God," I answered. "By His will, anything may be possible."

"Do you know who the Exorcists will be?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Give me the list. Tomorrow I will gather them in the village meeting hall," he said. I did not have the heart to tell him his sister was one of those people.

How can the world darken so quickly?

::

 **Massaschusetts, December 1691**

I went to the meeting hall wearing the uniform I had hoped to put away permanently. Sadly, it fits now as it was meant to. As if Johnny had always known I would go to war at this age, this size.

I drew the attention of all who saw me. The potential Exorcists sat with their families. The workers of the Black Order recognized the uniform, and their responses were shocked and horrified.

"No, impossible—"

"—means war—"

"—peace is gone—"

"Allen?"  
Komui spoke. He explained of the witches and warlocks, and of the Earl. He told them of the ill news he received. At last, he involved me, right before the audience was about to snap. As they trembled in fear, sock and uncertainty. Save Lavi, the Bookman who knew of the war, but not of my identity.

"Allen is a General, and has been for years now. At seventeen he has fought in this war since he was ten. If anyone is capable of helping us, it is him."

And I walked up, I put 'normal Allen' to rest, and donned General Walker once more.

"You are still no man! How can you help us defend the colonies against the Earl?" Chaoji demanded.

"I will train you to fight witches and warlocks," I assured. All stared at me in disbelief and fear.

"Allen, we are simple folk. We cannot fight," Lenalee told me. And as a General, I looked at her and spoke the clearest I could.

"In this world, it is fight and die. The Earl knows of this place. You can die helplessly, in your home. Or you can fight, and die saving others, saving yourself," I told her.

"It is not so simple," Lavi argued. "Innocence—"

"I can sense those who are Exorcists, and those who are not." I named them. Chaoji. Lenalee. Lavi. Kanda. Marie. Crowley

"I am a woman," Lenalee said. Trembling in fear. "I cannot fight."

"Even women are killed in wars," Kanda growled. He glared at me. "We have no choice, do we?"

It is hard to meet the gaze of a friend when you know what you have condemned him to.

The world is becoming a crueler place. Dream or reality, the shadows and monsters lurk everywhere. In my waking hours, I am the monster haunting my village, moving them into solitude and preparing them to die. It really is no wonder Cross drank and gambled. If you are a devil, you may as well fall into the temptations. We are all undoubtedly going to end up in Hell anyways. Not only the ones that hunt your heart, like the sweet promises the Earl gives to me in my dreams.

I wonder if death will give me reprieve from all of this. I am becoming a monster. Through the Earl's manipulations, through the Black Order's commands. Innocence, magic; they oppose each other. Perhaps… within me they will tear me apart? Soon, I will no longer stay sane. I want that to be true. I do not want to fight. I do not want to betray anyone. Not Cross, the Order, the Earl. Most of all, I do not want to betray myself.

The Earl's whispers are a siren's song now.

My dreams of an age of water.

Memories haunt me.

Visions of what the future holds for these villagers haunt me.

Knowledge of what I am haunts me.

I am waiting to see what kind of monster I will become first, while waiting for death to visit me. Is it possible? To die from Innocence at so young an age?

::

 **Massachusetts, January 1692**

Training is going as well as can be expected. Crowley and Marie are unexpectedly suited to hand to hand combat, Kanda to swordsmanship. Lavi almost seems as if he should wield an axe or mace. And Lenalee is unique. She is still weak, unused to everything, let alone combat. She has a natural strength in her legs and does well in a fight, for she moves so swiftly. Chaozii is of course talented with his fists. I train everyone in different ways. Most of them need to increase strength, and agility (especially those close-combat fighters). Lavi needs strength and stamina, Kanda must learn control and agility. Lenalee… she needs more endurance and strength. I push her the hardest, running laps.

Everyone thinks it cruel. Lavi in particular curses me for working his love that hard. Soon they will see why. Lenalee is stronger than I—or anyone knows. She needs to be pushed, or else she will die, or they will die. One day… she may even become a General.

Of everyone, Kanda has the most natural talent, and the right determination. He understands what he is fighting for, what will need to be done in the future. He has no hesitation. He does not falter. His resolve is stronger than anyone. I truly admire him.

Lavi, I treat as Master treated me. I understand now, his harsh methods were done out of love. No other apprentice did he train as he did me. No other apprentice has strived.

Every time Lavi argues with me, I give him more exercises. Every time he talks back, we spar until he is beaten into the mud. Whenever he sees Lenalee, I give him to Kanda to spar with. Everyone hates me for this. For what I do to Lavi, to Lenalee. Soon, they will see, and understand that those who are pushed harder are better prepared for the battles to come.

Today Lenalee can kick hard enough to break bones. She is quick enough to dodge blades, with enough endurance to wear everyone else out.

Today, Lavi has a fire in his gaze. He is as strong as Marie, as agile as Kanda. He knows how to take hits.

So I tell myself.

::

 **Massachusetts, January 1692**

Most days I can forget it. Forget being 'Allen', so that I may become 'General Walker'. Sometimes, however, I cannot. During moments of vulnerability I return to being a human boy. It always hurts, for there are only two causes: dreams of the Earl and seeing Lavi.

He walks with Lenalee every day. In the shadows, when he thinks no one sees, he kisses her on her pale cheeks, lighting fair skin with a gentle blush. He promises to marry her after all of this. I know he will never be mine. I hurt and ache endlessly.

Every night now, the Earl is in my head. Sometimes I dream of a great flood, and he is there, my savior, my family. Sometimes, it is his voice calling to me in my sleep or even my waking hours. Singing promises, coaxing me to take his hand. Lately… we have been one. As if he inhabits my being and I inhabit his. A sense of wholeness. As if we reside within one another. Is this what it means to be family with the Earl? Am I now an extension of him?

It is harder to resist him now. I am lonely, hated. I want companionship more than ever.

The first case of bewitchment has come. In Salem, witches have been tried. Hysteria will come, and many innocent lives will be lost.

And as I am forced to fight, my Innocence will drain my life. Likely attack whatever Noah that sleeps within my body. My death will hasten, and the Earl will have one less Noah. I will be beyond torment.

::

 **Massachusetts, February 1692**

Hysteria began. Panic and false accusations are running through the colonies. Slaves were executed, accused of witchcraft. Many innocent people have been tortured needlessly. I… I never expected these horrors. Girls, women, accuse each other. Out of spite, to save own lives. Everything is madness. We need to find the real witches before the colonist's foolishness can increase. We need to go to Salem. I fear what we will find there, and the state of mind of the people I am frightened. For them, for my students. If we find witches, our worst fears are realized, but if we find nothing, we cannot easily stop their foolish killings.

I have the most awful feeling. Such an awful feeling… I can taste death in the air.

I will pray with all my might to God.

And… if he will listen to me… ask the Earl for mercy. Mercy for those I came to the Americas for. Those I love.

What have I come to? What am I doing?

::

 **Massachusetts, February 1692**

I wanted no regrets. I wanted to hear Lavi's answer for myself. I needed to hear his rejection, so I could have that final "first". I know the Bookmen do not share history, even with their wives. So I went to Lavi. He did not want to listen to me. But if you say, "I met the Earl once." You become so much more important in a Bookman's eye.

"You met the Earl and survived?" He asked, as I knew he would.

"He has a plan for me," I answered, then told him of my encounter. He listened, watched me. For the first time he looked at me without anger, or hate or irritation. It was a wonderful gift.

"You are a Noah," he realized when I spoke of the Earl's dreams and whispers. "An Exorcist and a Noah…"

An impossible existence. A cursed being. Someone who would undoubtedly be torn to pieces by the very natures that should protect him. How ironic.

"I am the son of a warlock. Children of witches or warlocks become Noahs," I told him. I know now, that is what happened. Witches and Warlocks are rarely fertile, and they do not often desire children. They tend to avoid innocent beings so as not to taint them. But a few crave children, and those children grow up in the magic-saturated environment that turns their naturally malleable nature into something similar to the Earl, it awakens blood sleeping within them. I looked away. "Even if they are born with Innocence."

Lavi looked pained, conflicted as if he did not know what to do with me now. He is biased; he loves Lenalee, he fights the Earl. He should, by all rights expose my secret. He is also a Bookman, and not allowed to. He seemed to pity me.

"My Innocence shortens my life every time I use it. I have already fought for so long. I will die before I can give into the Earl," I promised him, hoping he would not change Lavi's already abysmal view o me. He was quiet, and looked so pained and conflicted. I took that chance to kiss him. He was shocked, and to my surprise not disgusted. He still rejected me. Angrily so. For a few minutes, that was enough for me. Before I left, I gave him parting words of wisdom.

"The more witches and warlocks you kill, the more he will focus his attentions on you. Beware the number of lives you take; hurt only those who cause harm."

Unfortunately, Lenalee saw. And she slapped me, accused me. Called me an 'abomination', 'sodomist'. She promised to punish me.

I do not doubt her. I will even accept that punishment, for I am guilty of that. Still, I hope she has the common sense to wait until after we save those at Salem. There are still people to save there.

Strange… tonight feels so ominous. As if… I stand at the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to push me off. Is it Lenalee…or the witches at Salem I have to fear?

::

 _The Earl made his last appearance in the colony set up by the Black Order, then disappeared._

'Why?' Cross had asked.

 _I do not know and it's quite worrying. After the mess in Salem, however we cannot look a gift horse in the mouth._

He stepped into the village, looking around, and saw that the Earl had not given them a gift but a curse. Many houses were now empty, abandoned by people fleeing or whose owners simply died. Exorcists who died without a General's direction. Men who were accused of witchcraft. The Earl was subtle, and he made sure that they paid for their sins. A dead village, soon to be forgotten.

Allen Walker was executed, Cross had been told. It was something he had always dreaded hearing. He had hoped his apprentice would grow to adulthood, though now it seemed as if that was never meant to be.

And without him, the village had lost to the Earl and fall apart, as he had predicted when the news first reached all, the Earl always sought revenge on those who murdered his kin.

Allen was too gentle for the world, if 'gentle' be the right word. 'Angelic' or 'pure' might better describe his existence. Strong as he needed to be. With a heart for all, witch's blood or no. He hated no one.

 _What became of the Exorcists?_

He walked past the old doctor's home, ignoring the man's face looking at him from inside. Komui may not have raised a hand to Allen, but he allowed it to pass and he paid for it through his sister. Lenalee's legs were permanently scarred. She moved outside of the village. Rumor has it her husband has a heavy hand.

He walked past an empty house with a broken door.

Chaoji had convicted as a witchcraft by people near Salem. Marie died shortly after Allen, protecting his brother-in-arms, Kanda. Kanda abandoned their home there, unable to remain in the town of so many bad memories. He returned on occasion.

He paused at the house where an old man sat in a chair on the porch, tending to a plant. The old man looked up, meeting his seeking gaze. The Bookman Clan was cursed. The Earl himself maimed one of them, the heir to the clan.

The old man pointed out to the forest. He walked in that direction.

 _How did they decide to execute him?_ He had wanted to know.

Since they had a confession that he consorted with the devil, it was decided it would be best to burn him alive, at the stake.

He passed by the pole, a thick beam scorched black, the ground around it scorched and littered with remains of fuel. The irony was not lost on him. That the son should die in the same manner his father had. As if Allen had any other possible outcome.

What little remained was given a proper burial despite the protests. It had cost another his life, protecting Kanda who wanted to give Allen a resting place.

Cross finally came to a single headstone in the forest, well taken care of despite the years that had passed. He stared at it, at the name, at the inscription, and day of death. No one knew his birthday. Not one villager had known. And the inscription was insulting, ill-suited.

"What a mess you put yourself into," he sighed, the wind escaping from his lips with the length of a worried man's endless struggle. He was sad. So very sad. His heart felt heavy.

"You took many years to come visit him."

General Cross turned around to see General Kanda there, wearing the uniform he had been forced to don in the aftermath of his friend's demise. He was undoubtedly the one to care for Allen's grave so diligently. He made it, buried Allen's ashes, and no doubt continued to visit the grave frequently. The reason for him doing so… quite obvious.

"You made a deal with the Earl," General Cross remarked, noting he was unharmed, and yet inexplicably marked by magic without a curse.

"As did you," Kanda replied poetically. He stepped forth, dark gaze resting on his comrade. "You will take the long route, like the Bookmen."

"I am no stranger to magic. A few hundred years to me is not as harmful as you think."

Kanda said nothing. A true friend to Allen, he was willing to be reborn with the memories of his previous life. When Allen walked the earth once more, he would pledge himself to Allen. A pledge to protect the boy, to never betray him. To give mind and soul to him to do as he wanted. General Cross admired this loyalty. Had it been given to anyone else, he would have called Kanda foolish.

"I have sins yet to pay for, as do the Bookman," he said. And Kanda understood. He held a hand out to Cross.

"We will not meet again in this life," he said. Cross took the hand and shook. He looked reminiscent, perhaps thinking of a time when he and Allen too had parted like this.

"No," he said. "We shall not."

Far away, the Earl wept and mourned. His grief was powerful with him, the other members of his family remained, weeping for the lost blood.

 _Fear not, he will be born again._

 _Have courage, his accuser will answer._

 _Rejoice, the traitor will redeem himself._

 _Sing, he will have a loyal guard._

The Noahs whispered, gossiped, hoped, and dreamed. For in grief all slipped into a quiet sleep. The world passed from one age to the next. A war was buried, soon forgotten, and the world moved on. Power crumbed to dust, until it remained but a reminiscent shadow.

All the while the Earl and his kin slept.

General Cross walked the earth.

The Bookmen prepared.

Everyone waited with bated breath for the return of the lost angel.

 **So this is the re-write, and I hope that soon I will be able to post the re-write for Fate Screwed Me Over. It will have fewer chapters, but these chapters will be quite long. I am sorry for the unexpected hiatus, and I promise that my stories are not abandoned. I just took such a long break, the way I think and write now do not match with the stories. I hope you will enjoy this new reboot I have.**


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